Perfect
by SaraMarie25
Summary: Sherlock has spent all day watching John watching him. It's distracting, so he decides to do something about it... This is my own version of A Study In Pink so it's not episodically correct. Also, I do not own any of the characters.


**Title: **Perfect

**Fandom: **Sherlock BBC TV Series

**Characters: **Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John Watson

**Prompt: **001. Beginnings

**Word Count: **2624

**Rating: **Explicit, Adult, NC-17

**Summary: **Is it the beginning of something that could be so special?

**Authors Notes: **Written for the FanFic100 challenge on LiveJournal.

"_Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours…"_

John's eyes watched as Sherlock paced around the room, inspecting the corpse lying right in the middle of it.

"_No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, __strong__ wind – too strong to use her umbrella."_

Still he watched the dark haired man as he remained on his track, walking round and round the corpse, making these self-assured and confident declarations in the low voice that sent shivers down John's spine, the one that dripped with arrogance.

"_We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried."_

Sherlock stopped and knelt down. John stared at the back of his head, the soft dark curls of his hair brushing against the collar of his form fitting shirt. John tried not to imagine running his fingers through that hair, winding tightly into the curls and pulling gently…

"John? Are you still with us?"

John jerked back to reality and found himself staring into the icy green/blue of Sherlock's eyes.

"Yes, I'm still here…what did you say?" asked John.

"I asked you if you had any theories on the cause of this woman's demise" growled Sherlock, walking around to stand behind John and talk into his ear.

"You are the Doctor, after all."

John could feel Sherlock's smirk at his back as he fought down the shiver that Sherlock's voice had created. Trying not to shake too much, he stepped forward and knelt down, pulling on a pair of clean gloves.

"Well judging by this white residue around her mouth and the petechial haemorrhaging of her eyes, my guess would be either drowning of strangulation. Until the autopsy is performed we won't know which, however from the lack of bruising around her throat, drowning is the most likely explanation" said John, inspecting the body closely.

"Very nice, you're learning" said Sherlock's voice in his ear. John jumped, not realising that Sherlock had come to kneel beside him.

With an infuriating smirk that told John that Sherlock knew he had him on the run, the consulting detective jumped up and whirled around in a flurry of trench coat to face DI Lestrade.

"I think we've seen all we need to see here Inspector" he said, confidently. Brushing past Lestrade he threw a look over his shoulder at John, still knelt on the floor.

"Come Dr. Watson. We have a dinner date" he called, disappearing out of the door. John stood up and looked at Lestrade, raising his eyebrows in an apologetic way.

"I've been working with him long enough to know not to be offended by anything he says or does" said Lestrade, shaking his head and turning back to his crime scene as John followed Sherlock out of the door.

"Don't you ever eat anything?" asked John, his mouth full. Sherlock flinched, looking slightly disgusted, but did not stop staring out of the window.

"Not when I'm working. It's distracting" he said, softly.

"Working on what?" asked John.

"The case, what else?" asked Sherlock, still not breaking his gaze out of the window.

"She ate at this café before she died. I want to know if it's significant" said Sherlock.

John knew better than to ask how Sherlock knew that the woman had visited the café because he wouldn't understand the explanation. He returned to his lunch. Far too many times he had just started eating when Sherlock had shot out of the place and John had had to follow him.

This time, John had managed to get two thirds of the way through his meal when Sherlock rose and went out if the door. Throwing down some money on the table, John followed him.

Thankfully, John realised that he didn't have to run to catch up with his partner this time. Sherlock had come to a stop just on the other side of the road. He had his back against the wall of the building opposite them and was craning around the corner to look at a black taxi in the next street.

John crossed the road to join him, his eyes fixed on the lean figure in front of him. The perfectly pale long neck was just crying out to be kissed. John swallowed and looked away before the detective noticed. Sherlock had an annoying habit of knowing exactly what he was thinking.

The taxi was empty. John said nothing; he knew how much Sherlock hated being asked 'stupid questions'. After about ten minutes, a man came out of a boarded up building just down the road from where they were stood, got into the taxi, and drove away. Without making a sound, Sherlock was halfway across the street before John had even noticed he was gone.

"Sherlock!" whispered John, running to catch up to him.

"I don't think we're supposed to go in here" he said, staring up at the boards with the Keep Out notices on them.

"Exactly, which is why I AM going in. It's the perfect place to hide something" said Sherlock, pulling a loose board away from the downstairs window and wriggling through the gap.

"And I thought you were starting to loosen up" said Sherlock, looking knowingly at John. John suddenly felt uncomfortable, once again feeling that Sherlock could read his mind. He sighed, shook his head and followed Sherlock through the window.

The consulting detective had already disappeared when he entered the dilapidated hallway of the house.

"I really hate it when he does that" murmured John, squinting through the darkness to try and see where Sherlock had gone.

"Do what?" Sherlock's voice echoed right behind him, making John jump out of this skin.

"That!" yelled John, clutching his chest and glaring at Sherlock.

"Well you shouldn't scare so easily. Or is it that I make you nervous?" smirked Sherlock.

"Wha…?"

"Look what I found" continued Sherlock, cutting John off. He held up a black trolley suitcase.

"I'll bet you my violin that it belongs to our victim"

"Well then we need to take it to Lestrade" said John, peering at the suitcase.

"We will. After I've had a look through it" said Sherlock.

"Sherlock! That's evidence! You can't go through it" said John, following Sherlock as he started to climb back out of the house.

"Don't worry so much John. Why don't you stop thinking about things and just go with your gut once in a while?"

"Well I'm not touching it" said John, following Sherlock back onto the darkening street.

Back at 221B, John sat pretending to read a new novel as Sherlock knelt on the floor in front of the fire, pulling apart the contents of the suitcase.

John couldn't take his eyes off him. The way his pale skin glowed in the firelight was captivating. He had put his trench coat aside due to the heat from the fire and John watched, mesmerised, as Sherlock's smooth shoulders and lean muscles shifted under his shirt.

"Nothing…nope…irrelevant…useless...possibly…" said Sherlock, as he picked up each item and either tossed them aside, deeming them unhelpful, or stacked them neatly to study later on. John laughed softly to himself and flicked his eyes back to his book.

"Something funny?" asked Sherlock softly. John looked up. Sherlock was very close, very far into John's personal space, which made him jump. Instantly his heart began to hammer at Sherlock's closeness.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?" said John, glaring at Sherlock.

"I don't sneak. You're just not particularly observant John" said Sherlock, moving closer.

"I AM observant, just not 'you' observant" said John.

"That's true, nobody is 'me' observant" said Sherlock.

"Yeah nobody is 'you' arrogant either" said John, playfully.

"Find anything in the suitcase?"

"Nothing significant. I'll give it to Lestrade tomorrow" said Sherlock.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell him that there's nothing relevant in the suitcase"

"Of course not. That would be dull" said Sherlock. He turned away from John and bent over to repack the suitcase. John's eyes fixed onto Sherlock's ass. God it was perfect! Taut and perfectly formed.

"Something I can do for you John?" asked Sherlock, his voice, if possible, even lower and distinctly more throaty. He straightened up slowly and turned to face John. John swallowed and looked away.

"What do you mean?" he asking, trying to sound relaxed and, more importantly, innocent.

"You're been watching me all day. Watching me for weeks in fact. I've been watching you. It's been very distracting"

"You've been watching me watching you?" asked John.

"Yes"

"Well I haven't been 'watching' you. Maybe you're imagining it" said John, defensively.

"You can't lie to me John, you know that" said Sherlock, drawing even closer. He leant over the chair John was sitting in and put his hands on the arms. His face was inches from John's and John's eyes were fixed on Sherlock's lips.

_Screw it!_

John snaked his hand around Sherlock's neck and pulled him down into a breathtaking kiss.

_Finally_

Just as he had always dreamed of doing, John twisted his hand into Sherlock's dark curls. He swiped his tongue along Sherlock's bottom lip and, to his surprise, Sherlock responded with a moan that rumbled deep in his chest.

Their tongues met softly, testing the waters. Moaning softly into John's mouth, Sherlock crawled into his lap, straddling across his hips. He pressed himself against John and John groaned, appreciating Sherlock's hard, warm body flush against his own.

He ran his hand up Sherlock's chest, caressing the smooth, hard muscle, the purple shirt the detective wore snagging in his fingers frustratingly.

Suddenly, Sherlock's hands where everywhere. In his hair, on his face, his shoulders, his chest... John moaned, breaking the kiss to get his breath back. Instantly, Sherlock's lips were on his neck, kissing the hollow where his throat met his clavicle. John whined softly, his now hard cock tenting obviously against the front of his trousers. Sherlock scooted closer, pressing his own erection firmly against John's.

John fought with the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, ripping them open with shaking hands and sliding the shirt off of Sherlock's strong shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at the foot of the chair. He gazed at Sherlock's perfectly sculpted chest, hardly daring to believe his luck.

"John?"

"You're just…perfect" whispered John, bending his head to Sherlock's chest and feathering kisses over his torso. He ghosted his tongue over one of Sherlock's nipples and sucked the little bud into his mouth, nipping gently with his teeth until he had teased it into a hardened peak. Sherlock moaned again and shuddered, letting his head fall back. John flicked his eyes upwards to take in the sight of Sherlock starting to lose the iron-tight control he had over himself. God! He was gorgeous!

John stood up suddenly, lifting Sherlock with him. Sherlock gasped in surprise at the smaller mans show of strength as John put his back down so that he was sat in the chair instead. Throwing a quick, cheekily sly smile at the detective, John began to kiss his way gently down Sherlock's chest, past his nipples and onwards, to his stomach. Sherlock's breath hitched as he felt John's lips burning into him, gasping at every new touch.

John snaked his hand gently up Sherlock's inner thigh as his chin softly bumped into Sherlock's erection. Slowly, he palmed Sherlock's cock through his trousers and began to rub. Sherlock let out his filthiest moan yet and squirmed, thrusting his hips upwards into John's hand.

John's fingers fumbled desperately with the button on Sherlock's trousers, working it open. In one fluid motion, he had Sherlock's trousers and boxers down over his hips and onto the floor, Sherlock's erection springing free, hard and throbbing.

Sherlock looked down at John, desperate to see what the doctor was going to do next, wanting to watch his every move. Revelling in the feeling of the mercurial eyes on him, John bet his head and swiped his tongue gently over the head of Sherlock's cock, making Sherlock jerk with lust and groan with the sensation.

John sucked the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking gently, tonguing the slit. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back.

"Oh God yes! John!"

Encouraged, John slid his lips further down Sherlock's shaft, tonguing at the underside of his cock. Sherlock's hips bucked as he felt more and more of himself being taken into John's warm mouth. John took Sherlock all the way into his mouth and swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat constricting the head of Sherlock's cock.

"Aaaaahhhhnnnnnnnyesssssss!"

Sherlock began to thrust gently into John's mouth as the doctor began to bob his head slowly, hollowing his cheeks again.

"Yes…yes…faster John…Joooohn"

John bobbed his head faster, raising his hand to fondle Sherlock's balls, squeezing them gently between his fingers. Sherlock was mewling and moaning, sweat dripping off his alabaster skin, writhing in sheer pleasure as John sucked him. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He grabbed a handful of John's hair and tugged gently, trying to warn him, to pull him away before it was too late.

"Jo...John…I'm going to…gonna…aaaaaaahhhhhh…"

John smiled around Sherlock's cock and sped up, his tongue furiously working over every inch of Sherlock's shaft. He could no longer ignore his own aching erection and slipped his hands into his pants, gripping himself firmly and moving his hand in time with his head. He moaned deeply, deliciously, sending gorgeous vibrations down Sherlock's cock and up his back. Sherlock let out a strangled scream as he came hard down John's throat.

"God! Oh god…ohgodohgod!"

John drank him down and pulled his head up, licking Sherlock clean. He didn't relinquish his grip on his own cock as he looked up at Sherlock, his head thrown back panting hard, his dark curls messy and clinging to his forehead, his body slick with sweat. He increased his speed on his own cock, moaning desperately.

Hearing his desperation, Sherlock opened his eyes and leant forward. He caught John's lips in a bruising kiss, tasting himself on John's lips as his tongue pushed into John's mouth. His hand slid down John's pants and brushed the doctors hand aside, taking over and pumping John hard. John's hips rocked furiously into Sherlock's fist as he felt his orgasm barrelling towards him.

"Yes Sherlock…yesssss! Sherloooock!"

He came, spilling himself all over Sherlock's hand and, unfortunately, the inside of his pants. Shuddering, he fell forwards and rested his head on Sherlock's thighs.

Sherlock withdrew his hand from John's pants, wiping it on John's already ruined trousers as he did so. He brought them up to rest on the back of John's head, entwining in his hair. John murmured and shifted, raising his head to look at Sherlock. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Sher…"

He was silenced by a finger to his lips, followed by a chaste kiss. They didn't need to talk about it. Sherlock never needed to talk about anything. He did something, then if he liked it, he carried on with it. No need for awkward conversation thought John, relieved. He knew where they stood with each other from just that small gesture. Everything was going to be just…perfect.


End file.
